


Meet the Parents

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Protectiveness, RPF, Romance, Tracksuits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: Timmy and Armie have an unexpected visit from Armie's parents, who aren't aware of their son's relationship. Timmy goes into protective mode.





	Meet the Parents

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I have ever published but I just can't keep these boys out of my mind. Eternal gratitude goes to my Slack crew for their support; you're like family now. Comments welcomed as I think I'm gonna keep writing these boys for quite some time!

“Did you order a pizza or something?”

“Huh?” Timmy regarded Armie through one half open eye. It was the most he could muster at this hour of the morning.

‘S’mone’s attha door,” Armie mumbled, already starting to fall back asleep. Timmy affectionately ruffled Armie’s hair, which was already a mess from the previous night’s activity.

“That’s all right, lazy, I’ll get it”, Timmy murmured, knowing Armie wouldn’t even hear him. He planted a kiss gently on Armie’s forehead and combed the bedroom floor for something to wear. All he could come up with was a pair of Armie’s sweatpants. Timmy always marveled at how Armie’s clothes still swallowed him up, not a common experience for Timmy as a 6-foot-tall guy. He pulled on the tracksuit pants and cinched the drawstring waist in. His curls were a mess (another souvenir of last night’s lovemaking) but he just ran his hands quickly through them and tucked a couple behind his ears, just so he could see.

The knocking at the door was soft yet insistent. “Yeah yeah, coming”, Timmy muttered, flinging open the door and preparing a freezing glare for whoever was on the other side. When he saw who it was his hand froze on the doorknob.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hammer,” he muttered, suddenly incredibly aware that he wasn’t even wearing a shirt. The perfectly groomed couple on the other side of the door were staring at him like he was a strange reptile they’d never seen before, but who had suddenly wound up in their son’s apartment. “Um, I’m Timothee.” He extended a hand, sheer politeness taking over.

Neither of them moved to shake his hand, and Mrs. Hammer gently inched past him into the apartment. Timmy suddenly saw all of it like she did: the poetry books scattered all over the floor, copies of the script for the Call Me By Your Name sequel they’d just shot last year, empty wine glasses they couldn’t be bothered to clean up when they’d be drinking too much, too late, and just start touching and God help anyone who got between them or asked them to stop. To Timmy, it was hard evidence of the love they shared. To Mrs. Hammer, it probably looked like evidence that their son was choosing the last possible life path they could want for him.

“Mother?” Armie asked from the living room doorway. Timmy hadn’t even heard him come in. Now both Armie’s parents were in the middle of the living room, with Armie in the doorway that led to the bedroom. Anyone who looked at Armie would think he was in control, self-possessed, and calm. Only Timmy knew to look for the muscle that twitched at the corner of Armie’s mouth, or the way the smile lines by his eyes totally disappeared. “What are you two doing here?” Timmy’s sheer admiration for Armie’s strength in that moment overpowered everything else, until Timmy realized that there was one thing, and only one thing, which could give Armie any support.

Immediately he spun from the center of the room and picked his way over the books and wine glasses to Armie’s side. Staring Mrs. Hammer directly in her clear blue eyes, Timmy leaned against Armie’s side, put his arm around Armie’s waist, and dipped his shoulder in his practiced way, so that Armie could embrace him back. He felt Armie sigh under his breath and felt tension release from his back as soon as he felt Timmy’s warmth. Without even thinking, like they had done so many times on the set, he let his affection run wild and leaned up on tiptoes to kiss Armie’s cheek.

“So this is what you chose over your life with Elizabeth, then,” Armie’s father asked in a booming voice that dripped with disapproval. “What possessed you to choose this life when you were so happy?”

“Because I wasn’t happy, Father.” Armie’s voice was clearer now, and the little tremor in it that only Timmy had heard was now completely gone. “We may have looked happy, but that’s all it was. Looks. And that’s all that mattered to her. She was never able to give anything of herself to me because her whole self was tied up in surfaces. The surfaces that tricked you into thinking we had a good life. This apartment may not look like much to you, but it’s where Timmy and I show our whole souls to each other. Tell each other risky things, forget the world exists, laugh at nothing. Liz never did any of those things, and I spent half my life thinking I didn’t need them. I won’t make the same mistake for the other half of my life.”

Timmy wished he could fucking applaud. He’d never been so proud of Armie in his life. He settled for leaning his head onto Armie’s shoulder, pulling his hand from Armie’s waist, and tracing “E+O” on Armie’s back, the universal thing they did for each other when they were in places that made more open affection impossible.

“Armand,” Armie’s mother snapped, “sometimes I think you do these things just to upset your father and I and play the role of the prodigal son. If you say you’re happy, I can’t disprove you. But you’re acting like a lovesick teenager and it won’t last.” She jerked her handbag onto her shoulder and turned as if to leave the room.

“And what if it does,” Armie murmured, so softly his mother turned to him to hear him say it again. “What if you come back here on the same day next year and we’re still here, and we’re even happier, because we’ve opened up that much more, and loved that much more, and had that many more memories between just the two of us that weren’t made for some imaginary audience to consume? What then?”

“Well—well, I guess we’ll see,” was all Armie’s mother could manage. “Come,” she snapped to her husband, and then Timmy heard the front door close behind them.

Armie closed his eyes, breathed, deep, and rested his head on Timmy’s. “Honestly, that went better than I thought,” Armie murmured. “And now—now,” he straightened up as if realizing something for the first time, “I feel free.” Armie crossed to the windows and opened them so the room was flooded with light. “They know, and we know, and I just—” Armie sprinted across the room to gather Timmy against his chest. “I fucking love you.”

Timmy turned his face to Armie’s that beautiful rococo face that Armie could never resist, and said in that clear unwavering voice, “I love you too, my heart of hearts.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, sinking into each other’s eyes and all the memories and emotions that were there for them, just the two of them, that no one else had seen or would ever know. Slowly Armie’s gaze started to turn mischievous until his eyes were positively gleaming. “Hey, come on,” he teased, throwing Timmy over his shoulder and turning toward the bedroom, “let’s get you out of my track suit.”


End file.
